Category: A Bit About Me and My Blog

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Books, etc

I’m knee deep in books these days- they are piled in various places throughout the house, library books along with my newest bookstore finds. I thought I’d share a few favorites and some of my thoughts.

Cured by Jeffery Rediger M.D.

This is an encouraging read about spontaneous healing. Dr. Rediger relays a number of stories of individuals who, after being diagnosed with an incurable illness, defy the odds and experience complete remission. All used their diagnoses as an opportunity and made sweeping changes on their path to radical healing. Rediger concludes: “… to reach new depths of recovery, we have to heal the following: our diets, our immune systems, our stress responses, and our identities.” This book is chock full of ideas and hope. Definitely a worthwhile read.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles

This is a bestseller by the author of Rules of Civility. It would be an understatement to say that Towles is a master of the English language. I actually began listening to this book but soon felt that I was missing out by not reading it myself. I’m happy I decided to grab it from the library and lose myself in the world of Count Alexander Rostov and the goings on in the Metropol hotel in 1920’s Moscow, where the Count is sentenced to house arrest. Rather than restricting his experience of life, the Count’s plight opens innumerable opportunities to truly live. I am enjoying this one very much!

The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown

I don’t often find myself reading a book for the third time, but that’s exactly what’s happening here. The subtitle, “Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are” is spot on as this book delivers, elucidating a well-researched path to freedom from “shoulds” and encouragement for living a wholehearted life. I have learned a lot from Brown’s hard won wisdom and highly recommend her.

I’d love to know what you’re reading!

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Enough

I’m thinking enough is possibly the opposite of perfectionism. I’m not sure yet.

I’ve been doing quite a lot of thinking and writing and reading and talking about perfectionism recently. It is, as Anne Lamott puts it, the oppressor and the enemy of the people. It has certainly been the enemy in my life.

I find myself wanting to make sense of this subject and at this point it’s simply too overwhelming. I am trying to trust that as a friend told me this morning, “I think you’re ready for this level of understanding “. I may be ready but it’s painful and still hard to wrap my head- let alone words- around. I’m raw.

Maybe I can start here: what makes me, or anyone, enough? Seems simple. And it is when I apply the query to others. Just existence, that’s it. That’s all it takes for a human to be enough, to be imbued with value and worth. But for myself, the answer doesn’t come so effortlessly. It’s complicated. Theoretically I may concede that the same is true for me if it applies to every other human like I believe it does. Yet getting something from theory or acknowledged truth to the heart can be quite a challenge.

So I sit in this middle place (the one I despise) of not knowing, not having the answer, not having it figured out. (Not that this place isn’t well known to me, I definitely find myself here often enough.) This is a big player in my life, this battle with the enemy of perfectionism and the deep life-long yearning to believe that I am really and truly enough. It makes this middle place not just uncomfortable but almost excruciating.

I hear the call to be authentic, coincidentally (or not) there were 2 articles in my email this morning about this very thing. But what does that really mean? I think I have stuck my toe in the water of vulnerability and showing up as I am, only to be lambasted by the truth that I have been editing every step of the way. Am I really that fragile? I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

If you are one of those who are truly, unapologetically yourself, know that you have my deep admiration, mixed with a good dose of jealousy. It’s possible I’m on my way but the going is pretty rough, believe me.

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Again, or What it Feels like to Dance with Depression

It’s been a rough day at the end of a challenging week. The end of Summer tends to be a difficult time for me; I’m usually ready for cooler weather and less daylight before it happens. I was listening to a podcast yesterday and a question stayed with me: “Can I be with this?” In other words, can I let go of even a small amount of my resistance and have the intention of acceptance. Can I be with this weather that’s uncomfortable, the long days?

I wonder how many days have been like this for me (yet I probably don’t really want to know), filled again with a sense of hollowness, futility and something that feels very close to despair. Most of my day has been spent going through the motions, doing the things I know I need to do to keep myself from the always lurking edge. That’s what I do on days like this. In DBT it’s called Opposite Action. At times it feels like life is on an endless Repeat mode, that I am, again, hip deep in some sort of psychic mud just trying to take one step. But those are my feelings and I tell myself, again, even though they’re real it doesn’t mean they’re true.

I told my psychiatrist recently that the truth is, this whole thing is a lot of work. I’m well aware that this is true for many. And it is. Getting off the sofa, doing a single load of laundry, brushing my teeth. Back to the basics, again. Frustrated that so many things from this week’s To Do list will get moved to next week. Kicking myself that I didn’t have what it takes to call my dad, again.

Having Bipolar Disorder (Type 2) is tricky to manage. My hypomanic symptoms are adequately controlled with 2 mood stabilizers, but the depression remains something I attempt to manage without the assistance of medicine. Sometimes I agree to try a medication, usually one I’ve tried before, but I am quickly reminded that untenable side effects for me are pretty much a given. And around it goes, again.

So, as with the weather, I ask myself, can I be with this? This reality of my cycling, shifting moods? The feeling that I am a burden with not much of value to contribute. Again and again the negative thoughts and old beliefs come, and all my attempts provide only a slight distraction. But I keep trying. Sometimes it’s all I can do.

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Broken Open

A teacher says “we are broken or broken open”.

Life has broken me open.

Open to more beauty and joy,

more darkness and sorrow,

more awareness and presence,

a greater depth to love,

compassion.

Open to a desire to live intentionally, fully, vulnerably, as if I have nothing to lose.

A want to slow down, to relish what is precious and fleeting,

a need to slow down, to be here, fully present, fully myself.

Broken or broken open?

The challenge is to stay open, to not live as if I am merely broken- lying around like shards of glass, ready to inflict pain on any who come near.

Because I often feel very broken. Just broken. And I want to go away somewhere, be alone with all that hurts, soak in it for awhile.

Yet redemption of the pain, of my brokenness, is birthed from the opening.

Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you”. I believe it can also be the place- the opening- from which the light shines out.

So mostly my heart remains painfully tender and I continue to be who is left after life has chiseled so much away, has broken me open.

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On Writing

So, I have a little issue with perfectionism. Well, a big issue to be honest. And I’m finding that it gets in the way of posting here. I have had times in my life when I just wrote. I would pick up a pen and write what was in my head and that was it. Done. Anymore, it’s like I have to go over every sentence with a fine-toothed comb, and at some point I completely lose track of what I wanted to say. It’s a very frustrating situation and, as a result, I don’t write or post much.

Now, I don’t imagine many of you who have read my blog, when you notice that the posts are few and far between, are laying awake at night wondering what the heck is going on. And that’s good. But I do, I wonder what’s going on. Perfectionism, that’s what. It has messed with me for as long as I can remember. So I say “no more!” At least for now, I will write and post and have less regard for what I publish being “just so”.

As a result, you may read something that doesn’t flow. Guess what? I read stuff online (and sometimes in books) that doesn’t flow. All the time. And I still can learn from what I read and be encouraged by it.

So there you go. My goal is to write more and worry less.

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Reframe

If you know me well, you know how much I dislike Summer. I really do. I remember as a child, begging my mom to let me stay indoors rather than sending me out to play in the heat. My mom was the only other member of my family who felt the same way about the heat, so she sometimes relented and let me stay in. For much of my life I have felt apologetic about my dislike of Summer. It’s not the norm; most people look forward to the season of heat and light, barbecues, picnics and vacation. Not me. Heat makes me feel ill and long days with lots of light send a message to my sensitive circadian system that I don’t need to sleep when, really, I do.

I am coming to a place of acceptance of my feelings about this popular season. I admit it, talk about it and feel less guilt than I used to. Maybe the guilt has something to do with having siblings who are always cold unless it’s over 90 degrees. Or possibly from being married to a guy who handles discomfort without saying much about it. Regardless, I am coming clean about my true feelings for (almost) all things Summer. In other words I’m accepting that the way I feel is the way I feel. Full stop.

And I’m changing my thinking. Yep I’m doing that too.

It occurred to me recently that maybe I can think about this season differently. I’m not talking about pretending I like it when I don’t, but rather reframing it so that I can be a little less miserable.

It’s similar to how I approach walking the dog, our dog anyway. When I’m walking, what I want to do is walk. Not Libby. She wants to sniff. Everything. And her sniffing gets in the way of my walking. Sometime in the recent past I realized that instead of standing there, pulling on the leash and muttering at her under my breath, I could look around and notice the beauty of Nature. This may sound silly to some but, let me tell you, it has made a huge difference in how I feel during and after a walk.

In applying this practice to Summer, I have decided to notice a few things everyday (usually three) that are beautiful. Often it’s stuff like the way the sun gleams on the back of a black horse, or the pure green of the aspen leaves. It really doesn’t matter. It’s been helpful for me to change my focus enough to see that there are some things I truly like about Summer. Not many, but some.

I do want to make reference back to the fact that my acceptance of my feelings about Summer is foundational to this practice of finding the good in it. Too often, in my opinion, we attempt to change our unwanted thoughts or emotions as soon as possible. I have found acceptance to be a critical first step in any process of change. When I reject an emotional experience, because I’m uncomfortable with feeling the way I feel or because I’m unpopular for feeling the way I feel, my options seem quite limited: repress, pretend, and the like. Yet when I turn toward the emotion and accept that, yep, this is how I feel, I have more options.

In paraphrasing something I learned from Kristin Neff, one of the founders of Mindful Self-Compassion: when I am rejecting myself in some way (usually with judgment and criticism), I am both the attacked and the attacker. When this happens, my fight or flight system kicks into high gear and the adrenaline and cortisol start pumping. But how can I get away when I’m the attacker? Good question! I can’t. Another interesting thing I’ve learned is, that when we are in such a state, the areas of the brain that help with motivation and change became inactive. After all, the brain is more concerned with survival when I feel under attack, not with figuring out how to exercise more. The flip side of this is self-compassion (think of it as turning the kindness we show to others, inward). Self-compassion causes those same parts of the brain to light up and become active, thereby promoting motivation, change and growth. Sounds like a little acceptance is a pretty good deal.

So, Summer. I don’t love you and I’m okay with that.

How about you? What’s something you dislike or struggle with that you then are hard on yourself for? Please share! I’d love to hear your story.

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Oh Yeah

Two words. They were in a text I received and felt like a splash of cold water in my face. For the second time in less than a week, I was experiencing one of those “oh yeah” moments. It’s so easy at such a point to turn and berate myself for losing sight of something (2 somethings, actually) so integral to my wellness. But I am human and I forget and get distracted and carry on as expected, until I can’t. Then, I remember.

This time though, life itself sent me reminders before I found myself in a full blown free fall.

A few days ago, I had a hard conversation with one of the few people in my life I feel safe enough to have hard conversations with, my husband. Afterward, I found myself on the sofa because it had been a long day and my pain was front and center. Within about 2 seconds I found myself weeping and lost in the grief of life. I am learning to let my emotions be present and move through me (that’s the hope anyway), so I continued to rest and cry, as memories of one hard thing after another rolled over me like waves. I wasn’t crying from the physical pain, but I think it’s often the vehicle for stripping me of my very last “I’m ok” mask- the one that feels so familiar I usually don’t realize I’m wearing it.

Later, as I was catching up on some reading, I found myself reading an article about a woman’s experience with Bipolar 2 and that’s when it happened: “oh yeah, I have that.”, and then, “Maybe it’s contributing to my current emotional chaos”.

Now this particular writer just happens to have what’s commonly referred to as Rapid Cycling, which I also have. Plus, she put her finger on what it’s like to live in Mixed States, another nuance of this disease that applies to me. As I read, I felt so much relief. I mean, so much! First, just the reminder that I’m not alone in this living with mental Illness thing. But more than that, it gives me a hook to hang my life experience on, a container it fits into, and that helps my brain to rest. Believe me, my brain at rest is highly sought after yet seldom experienced.

So for those of you who may be thinking something like, those words (Bipolar, Rapid Cycling, Mixed States) are just labels and labels cause damage or add shame, or something similar, let me clarify. Labels are just words, and while I do believe strongly in the power of words, I think the “power” attributed to mental illness labels has more to do with stigma and shaming that comes from culture. In my opinion, a label is an explanation not a definition. The labeling words I use to describe my own experience of mental illness help me in the process of self-understanding and self-acceptance, and they can make it more likely that I will get the help and support I need.

My second “oh yeah” moment occurred yesterday and involved the text message I referred to earlier. The two words? High Functioning. In this particular text, those words were not about me, but they are. I have a friend who has a similar struggle with Bipolar 2 and is also considered “High Functioning”, and we have had many conversations about the consequences of being so put together and capable. Really! We both agree that showing up and doing life as expected (and often more) day after day, month after month, while you simultaneously feel like you’re dying inside or going crazy because your brain is in overdrive, makes it really hard to get the help and support needed to maintain stability. Looking good on the outside turns out to work against us.

I’m grateful for these reminders. Please don’t hear me say I love having this illness, as if I’m trying to silver-line this cloud. But, as the saying goes, “it is what it is”, and my life is much better in every way since I have (mostly) accepted my diagnosis. I’m enduring my least favorite season with a little less dread and a little more medication rather than suffering through it like I normally do. That only can happen because I accept my illness and work within its parameters to be as healthy as I can be.

Bipolar Disorder is not who I am but it is a part of me. It brings gifts of many kinds and my intention is to keep my hands open. I don’t want to miss the gifts.

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Stories From Childhood, Part 7: Canal

I loved to play among the icy wonderland of the canal in winter. I spent the hours from stepping off the school bus until dark, creating frozen imaginary worlds. My nose runny, fingers numb, I squatted in the bottom of the ditch, protected from the fierce wind- outside and in The House- in a world of my own.

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Stories From Childhood, Part 6: Mean Man

We think he shot our dog. At least dad thinks so. I’m not sure he had a wife but sometimes, some woman or other, lived there. He had 2 girls; one was friends with my sister but the younger one was mean like her dad. Maybe she was just scared. Rumor was he was cruel to his horses. His place was run down and surrounded by old run down cars. And his goats were always getting out. One day, a mean old goat butted poor Mrs B. (who dad said was “big as a barn”), all the way from her mailbox at the end of the road, home. When riding my bike by his house, I pedaled extra fast.

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Stories From Childhood, Part 5: The Hill

The Hill was where the rich people lived, I guess. But most of all, The Hill was for careening down, on bike in summer and sled in winter. Once in 5th grade, the boy I liked called me the “B word”. Affronted, I ran home to tell my big brother. He promptly accompanied me back to the scene of the incident. Confronting my would-be love, my brother wrested the sled from his hands and shoved it, sideways, down and over the nearest post. I can still feel the shocked look on my face.

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